Les Oiseaux Comme Nous
by Sahara Storm
Summary: [Oneshot, FranzAlbert] One lazy Sunday afternoon, without even realising it, Albert teaches Franz how to fly.


**Title:** Les Oiseaux Comme Nous

**Fandom:** Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo

**Pairing:** Franz/Albert

**Rating: **PG.

**Word Count: **1,020

**Summary/Description: **One lazy Sunday afternoon, without even realising it, Albert teaches Franz how to fly.

**Warning/Spoilers:** There's the teeniest bit of innuendo. No spoilers whatsoever. …Unless you didn't know that Franz was gay for Albert, which was pretty obvious from the get-go.

**A/N: **I really enjoyed writing this, mostly because it's light and happy. Even though I love Franz, I love watching him squirm too! XD Hopefully I am getting a better handle on these characters.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo_; neither the book nor the anime.

* * *

Albert is fourteen years old when he first gets his motorcycle.

It is a beauty; even Franz will admit to that. It was custom made, of course, and curves smoothly, with none of the abrupt angles that make a regular motorbike seem ugly and harsh. It shines like polished platinum, its gleam enough to blind. The red and black in its body make it bold, make it stand out, and it runs like a dream.

The legal age for getting a permit to drive it is fifteen; the Viscount only needs to show his face at the registration office and give a bright smile in order to obtain the permit, his age notwithstanding. Franz shakes his head a little; Albert grins with glee, as if any other lucky kid out there would've gotten the same treatment.

Within days, the streets of Paris are filled with joyous whoops against the backdrop of a loudly purring engine. The Viscount's happiness is palpable in his voice; it is evident to all who know him that this is how he escapes the sometimes suffocating hold of aristocracy; how he can be free. He is careful, of course, (Eugenie and Franz make him swear to that) but the exhilaration he gets when he is alone with his machine on the highways likens him unto a child, even more so than usual.

"It's like flying!" he thrills to Franz once in a breathy, heady voice.

It is not long, maybe a few weeks, before he wheels up to the d'Epinay residence on a lazy Sunday afternoon, demanding that Franz come along with him for a ride. Franz is adamantly against it at first (no matter how much he might agree that it is a good looking bike, or that Albert benefits from it, he has no inclination to actually _get on_ the death trap) and will not budge, no matter how much Albert whines that, "I drove _all the way_ over here to get you." But then the brunet puts _that_ look on his face, and smiles _that_ smile, and asks, "Please?" _just so_, and Franz that knows he has lost.

"You won't always get what you want," he says grumpily, and nevertheless goes inside to collect his coat.

Albert throws him a helmet when he comes back outside. The boy is grinning and gloating visibly, and Franz would be annoyed if he did not feel so warm inside. He brushes it off by throwing a noncommittal look to his friend, and sliding on to the back of the bike, hesitating slightly in a manifestation of far less trepidation than he actually feels. He leans back, as opposed to forward, hands gripping the sides of the machine, knuckles white.

Albert cranes his neck to give him a wildly sceptical look, brow arched high.

"Don't be an idiot," he says, disbelief clear in his tone. "You have to hold on to me; it'd be dangerous otherwise."

Franz bites his bottom lip, hoping that the lower part of the helmet masks the telling gesture. _This _is what he had been afraid of, really, if he were honest with himself. Being close to Albert was always a wretched situation, which he always came out of feeling miserable and even more in love, while his friend remained blissfully ignorant. However, the prospect of leaning against Albert, being forced to mark the pleasing musk of his cologne, how perfect his slight build is, and generally having his fourteen year old hormones in a twist is better than the prospect of falling off of the bike and meeting a pitifully messy end on the streets of Paris.

Franz sighs, then leans forward and locks his arms around his friend's waist tightly, so that they are chest to back. He is dismayed to find that Albert only wears a thin t-shirt beneath his unbuttoned jacket; he can feel the warmth and the light definition of his abdominal muscles. He swallows, and they take off.

Albert goes slowly at first, easing down the streets of residential Paris, allowing Franz to take in the familiar sights at a comfortable pace. He picks up speed once they hit the main roads. The afternoon traffic is not too bad at this time, and the honks and horns of the drivers around them fade into the distance as Albert weaves through the cars smoothly. Franz raises an eyebrow; whoever had been his teacher was _good_.

The humming of the engine lulls him, and Albert's leather jacket feels good against his cheek. By the time they swerve onto the highway, he is so comfortable in their slowly increasing speed that he does not notice that they are going quite fast until he sees the scenery whizzing past like picture frames against the wall of a museum. His breath catches in his throat, and he holds tighter to Albert.

"Where are we going?" he asks above the rush of the wind.

"Dunno!" is the cheery reply that Albert flings back, and Franz feels tight in his stomach. Albert is so warm; not even the sharp breeze can cut through the cocoon that they have made of themselves. He feels a lump in his throat, like this is all somehow wrong, but for now, he will allow himself to be happy. The landscape continues to fly by, and Franz can _feel_ Albert smiling.

"Idiot!" he calls out good-naturedly, just loud enough for Albert to hear.

Some minutes later, he realises that Albert was right, but resolves not to tell him until later, as gloating while driving could be dangerous to one's safety. But… _'It's like flying!'_ He could not have described it any better. In this moment, with the wind filling out his coat and making it fly, Albert's scent heavy around him, and his lower thighs pressed warm against Albert's hips, he feels as if he could take off and soar, and not even the birds in the sky would be able to touch him. And all of Paris would be in awe, and they would envy, wishing that they could become a bird like him.

Birds like _them_.

* * *

**A/N:** Feels nice to write something happy for these two; they deserve it. :) Also, I was made aware that Albert's bike was NOT custom made, it's a Vincent Black Shadow, but I just wanted to keep that little detail.

Comments and crit are very much welcome and appreciated.


End file.
